


Gut-Punch

by KivaEmber



Series: Wine Cellar [15]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Male!WoL - Freeform, Minor Angst, Miqo'te!WoL - Freeform, Multiple Pov, Post-Patch 4.2, WoL has Issues pt 2, WoL is also the Garlean's version of the Chuck Norris meme, implied mental issues/trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 03:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13848816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaEmber/pseuds/KivaEmber
Summary: WoL enjoys the experience of an attempted assassination. He hates every minute of it.





	Gut-Punch

It was in Kugane one week after meeting Asahi that Aza had the pleasure of entertaining assassins.

 

It ranked, currently, as the third worst day of his life.

 

* * *

 

“No matter how much they try t’pretty this place up,” Bluebird slurred disdainfully, “Kugane’s th’same as anywhere else.”

Aza hummed in absent agreement, staring down into the amber depths of his drink. The air was hazy with fogweed smoke, the tables and chairs crowded together in this tiny excuse of a tavern. It was one in the seedier parts of Kugane that catered more towards foreigners with… less than stellar tastes, or those who didn’t possess enough coin to while away their time in the Shiokaze Hostelry. It was a good place to go to if you wanted to be drunkenly anonymous.

“Same looks, same smell, same weak ass ale…” Bluebird rambled on, waving her near-empty flagon about with careless abandon, almost whacking a passerby in the hip in the process, “Seriously, this is shit alcohol.”

“Didn’t think we came here for fine-tasting drinks,” Aza snorted, a little soberer than his companion. Truthfully, he wasn’t in the mood to get _too_ drunk. After his embarrassing moment back in Ishgard where he got so plastered he ended up getting into a mood with Aymeric, he found himself exercising some restraint. Enough to feel a very pleasant thrum of relaxation, his eyes heavy-lidded as he watched the antics of his friend.

“Well, _no_ , but…” Bluebird peered down into her drink, grimacing, “Next time _I’m_ pickin’. I mean, we still have, uh, another magical animal to beat up, right?”

“Yeah,” Aza picked at his memory, but the names of Byakko and Genbu’s other fellow lords didn’t immediately spring to mind, “Well, two more and then… K-whatever.”

“Kou… Kyo… uh…” Bluebird looked cross-eyed, “Uhm, some Doman name!”

Aza chuckled, knocking back his drink in one go. Bluebird was right, the ale was pretty weak and nasty tasting. He coughed lightly into his hand as he set his flagon down, his gaze idly skimming over the interior of the pub. All night he had seen people come and go in a constant flow – some stayed for a while, and others merely appeared to group up and then immediately leave, a dull cacophony of noise that successfully made every single conversation private unless the eavesdropper sat at the table they were listening in on.

“We can go to the Hostelry,” Aza sighed, realising that he had some business with the Centurio Clan anyways, “Finish the night off there before going ba-”

He stopped.

There was an abrupt shift of ‘ _threat_ ’ that made his ears instantly flick forwards, instantly rescanning the pub for anything different. This wasn’t the first time the Echo gifted him an abrupt warning when nothing was apparently wrong, but there was always a fifty-fifty chance if it was followed through. Sometimes even the act of Aza becoming alert or combative was enough to stave off an ambush, marking him as too troublesome prey.

“What?” Bluebird instantly sobered, sitting up straight and looking around too with clear, sharp eyes, “What is it?”

The sensation of threat eased a fraction, and Aza forced himself to relax in slow increments. “I think… we have perhaps outstayed our welcome.”

Bluebird said nothing for a moment, then, pulled back her guise of unsteady drunkenness, even if her eyes remained as sharp and aware as a predator hiding in the brush, “Pfft, as always. Well, c’mon then.”

They stood up from their seats and it was an effort for Aza to keep his hands relaxed at his sides. He had foregone his usual Greatsword coming down here and the space between his shoulder-blades itched at the lack of its comforting weight. Not to say he was unarmed, but there was nothing more intimidating than having fifty-five ponze worth of metal swinging down at you. A nice big ‘fuck off’ that worked every time.

It took a bit of clever footwork and shifting to gently move through the tightly packed tavern at a speed that was quick but not suspicious. Bluebird played the part of drunkard admirably, clinging to his arm as she cheerfully recounted some story that went through one ear and out the other. Aza put a bit of unsteadiness to his steps as well, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as they pushed and eased past groups and packed tables, moving closer and closer to the door.

Only for it to abruptly swing open, a raucous group of – judging by the accents – Limsan pirates spilling into the already fit to burst tavern. They were singing and laughing, and Aza and Bluebird had no choice but to quickly stand aside or get trampled, pressing close against a stained wall. He felt briefly claustrophobic; his nose twitched at the stink of seawater, alcohol and sweat and Bluebird tightened her grip on his arm as if to hold him in place, the pirates barging past and the door swinging shut-

“Excuse me.”

A voice, female, very softly spoken just at Aza’s shoulder. He turned without thinking-

_THREAT_.

-and flung himself back before he even processed the shrieked warning.

“ _Ow_! Fuck-!” Bluebird yelped as he crashed into her, sending the both of them near sprawling over a nearby table. Angry shouting immediately rose, noise of tankards and bottles tumbling to the floor, but Aza ignored all that, scrambling upright and getting his feet under him just in time to feel a knife slip, as nicely and neatly as it pleased, below his breastplate and into his ribs.

The air just left him.

“My Lord’s regards,” a woman before him was saying to him, non-descript, Doman, dark-eyes, as he found himself bending over slightly, the pain not quite reaching him yet, but his body knowing something was terribly wrong. She left the knife in, kindly, and before Aza could recover, slipped into the crowd with a grace that reminded him viscerally of Yugiri.

“Fucking _hell_ , Aza, what is wrong with-” Bluebird stopped, drew in a very sharp breath, just as Aza started gripping the edge of the table to stay upright, “Holy _fuck_ _WHO THE **FUCK STABBED YOU**?!”_

“I don’t… know,” he said dazedly. The tavern was very loud, he realised, louder than before, pain beginning to prick through that numb haze of shock. Someone was holding his arm tight. Bluebird was shouting.

“-ich one of you fuckers shanked him! I’ll fucking kill you!”

“It was none of us! You crashed into our table, when would we get the time to-”

“Oh fuck, we really don’t need this. The Sekiseigumi will come if there’s a _stab_ victim-”

“Who’s been stabbing people?!”

“There’s a stabber?!”

“Well, I ain’t staying here if-”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bluebird snarled emphatically, “Fuck- hold on, Aza. I’ve got you.”

“I’m fine,” he said, breathless with pain and something else as he tried to curl over his injury, his hand hovering over where the hilt of the knife was sticking out of him. Wasn’t the first time he’s been stabbed. He knows – don’t move it. Keep it in. Go to Crisp. He’ll be fine. He was just- stunned. That was a straight up stabbing. The fuck did that come from?

“Thal’s balls,” Bluebird gripped his arms and hauled him upright, making his vision spotty when the harsh movement made the knife – shift. Grind. It definitely – on its heels came pain, a piercing, burning throb that sharpened and sharpened and sharpened with each short breath he took, “Fuck. That is… that is pretty stuck in there.”

Aza didn’t look, he knew better to. Instead he focused on Bluebird’s pale, alarmed face and shoved down that bubbly, claustrophobic feeling crushing down on his breastbone. There was no enemy to fight to help him shunt or channel the pain into anything productive, but the Echo still thrummed, hostile, threat, and, the tavern was brimming with uneasy and angry energy. Danger, his brain said, danger. Danger. Move. Go. Go. Go.

“I can walk,” he said, faintly, and he did just that. Bluebird made a small noise when he abruptly pulled away and made for the door, ignoring how his muscles pulled and dragged over the blade in him, how every step made his insides churn and clench. Move forwards. He would go outside. Then he would have space to move. Then he would go to Crisp. Then he would be healed. Then he will find that woman and kill her.

_Kill her. Kill her_ , Fray chanted, low and hungry, infuriated at his misstep. How dare he lower his guard that much? How dare he be too slow to defend himself? How dare he? _Shinobi. Threat. Others._

Of course. Aza was attacked, so what of the others? Alisaie was here. Crisp was at the Hostelry. Tataru. He felt like he couldn’t breathe from the thought of it. If they went for him, so brazenly… Bluebird was here and, that woman just strolled away. She could come back and-

_KILL HER,_ Fray was like a cloud of flies in his ears, a buzzing scream, _CRUSH HER_.

Aza managed to reach the door of the tavern, shouldering it open with Bluebird hot on his heels. He could feel her hovering, her hands lingering on his arm as they both staggered out into the narrow side-street, the hubbub from the tavern following them, and Aza took a moment to stand there and breathe. And breathe. And breathe.

“Okay,” Bluebird was saying in a tone reserved for skittish, deadly animals, “What’s going through that fucked up mind of yours? Talk to me, Aza.”

Aza looked at her. The pain was an ebb and flow now, and now that the shock of it had faded, he found himself easing and tensing with its hot throbs. Pain was power. Suffering was strength. He breathed in, drawing it out, and kindled that spark of dark aether in his belly, keeping it and holding it, breathing out…

“Shinobi,” Aza finally said, looking past Bluebird and at the tavern, “It was a shinobi.”

“Fuck,” Bluebird said, “Right, I forgot the Empire had a few of those.”

Aza felt centred enough to look down. The hilt sticking out of him was wrapped with thin, black leather and looked like something you would lift from a street stall. Cheap, non-descript, untraceable… but sharp enough to slip through the thin leather strap beneath his breastplate with little effort and right into the firm meat of his body. It seemed self-contained, though… the leather around the blade gleamed wetly, but it wasn’t that much. Little bleeding.

This was a warning, he realised abruptly. This wasn’t meant to kill him. This was a warning.

That…

“Aza,” Bluebird cut in, still hovering anxiously, still staring at him like she wasn’t sure what he was going to do, “Are you gonna pass out? Because I’m not dragging your ass all the way across Kugane if you are.”

“No,” Aza stared at the hilt for a minute longer, before deciding he would… deal with that later. Pain, pain, pain, he breathed through it, “This is just… a friendly hello, I think.”

“Okay,” Bluebird said, clearly thinking he was bonkers, “Sure. Friendly.”

“Friendly for Asahi,” Aza clarified, gently pressing his fingers against the hilt before giving it an experimental tug. It really was stuck in, he observed detachedly, letting his gaze slide out of focus when the sheer agony that shot through him almost made his soul violently launch itself out of his body to escape.

“Ooooh no no no, don’t-!” Bluebird slapped his hands away, “Keep that in, you fucking idiot!”

Aza swayed on his feet, but remained standing, “We need Crisp.”

“Yes, we fucking do!” Bluebird hissed, “This was why I said we should’ve gone to the Hostelry! But nooo, you wanted to go here and now see what’s happened! Fucking assassins! Shinobi! You have a fucking _knife_ rammed up to the hilt in your gut!”

“I’m aware,” Aza said, “Kind of hurts a bit.”

“ _Kind of hu_ \- right,” Bluebird clenched her jaw, grabbing his arm in an ironclad grip, “Okay, you are _clearly_ out of your gourd. I’m dragging you to that creepy Hancock.”

“Okay.”

“Then I’m gonna sic Crisp on you. I hope you _cry_ when she takes that out.”

“Okay.”

“Then when you’re better I’m gonna beat you up!” Bluebird continued to rant, dragging him after her – carefully, though, keeping her stride short and slow, “Warrior of Light, stabbed in a fucking tavern. I’m never letting this go!”

The thing was, she really wouldn’t let this go. She’ll be bringing this up for years. “Sure.”

“And stop agreeing with me! It’s creeping me out!”

 

* * *

 

They got as far as the bridge leading to the Aetheryte Plaza when they were accosted by the Sekiseigumi.

“We’re investigating reports of a stabbing,” the tall, stern-faced samurai told them, his gaze lingering pointedly on the hilt sticking out of Aza’s gut, “I’m supposing you’re the victim.”

Aza considered the samurai and his companion in silence, his danger sense still prickling uneasily. The samurai had walked from the direction of the Sekiseigumi barracks – which, normally, wouldn’t stick out as suspicious, but he would have thought samurai alerted to a stabbing would have come from the way they came having overheard the commotion. No one in that bar would have breathed a word about a stabbing if it meant bringing attention to themselves and whatever dirty business they had been conducting.

“No, m’not the victim,” Aza said, “This is… training accident.”

“Uh, yeah, training accident,” Bluebird added quickly, her grip so tight on his arm it was bruising, “Pure accident that we’re solving right now by going to a doctor. So, if you would excuse us-”

“We have a doctor that your friend can see,” the stern-faced Sekiseigumi interrupted, and his partner – an equally tall, expressionless samurai – moved a little closer to Aza’s unprotected side, “We Sekiseigumi are proud to offer our assistance even to foreigners, and that includes medical aid.”

“It’s fine, we shouldn’t trouble you,” Bluebird said uneasily, “We have a friend who’s a practicing doctor so, we’ll go see them. It’s fine.”

“We insist,” the Sekiseigumi pressed, and the pair of them stood in a way that discouraged any attempts to retreat. Aza glanced at either of them, noting that they blocked their path forwards, but also looked ready to leap into action if they attempted to dart around them or away. Hm. He should have known this game wouldn’t have stopped at the tavern.

Bluebird dipped her head slightly, looking nervous, “Um, l-look, I…”

As she hesitated, inviting the Sekiseigumi to move a little closer to what they perceived to be a weak link, her hand flashed over her belt and then flung the smoke bombs at their feet. A loud pop, a bang, and then white, acrid smelling smoke filled their vision, and Aza hissed when Bluebird yanked him forwards, making the knife jar nauseatingly against his rib.

“Runrunrunrunrun~” Bluebird was chanting as they barged past the stunned Sekiseigumi and towards the Aetheryte Plaza. Aza held his breath as they sprinted over the bridge and plunged into the early evening foot traffic that milled around the Aetheryte Plaza, blending into the milling crowd with only a few odd looks. His vision was grey around the edges but he bullied past the lightheadedness with sheer grit and determination.

“Phew, close…” Bluebird whispered, keeping close to his side as he very painfully walked with her, letting out a heavy exhale that was swiftly followed by a few short, pained breaths. That sprint knocked his breathing rhythm off kilter and the pain was slowly but surely scratching over his threshold, “Creepy samurai.”

“Mm,” Aza mumbled, clenching his jaw whenever his swaying movements made the hilt knock against Bluebird’s hip. Gods, they still had a way to go before reaching Hancock too, “Yeah. Not… Sekiseigumi.”

Bluebird shot him a look, her expression serious, “Aza? You gonna faint?”

“No,” he forced out, “I’m fine.”

“Right, which is why you look as pale as Crisp’s ass,” Bluebird said flatly, her gaze studying him. He really did feel clammy and dizzy, now that she mentioned it, “Holy crap, you look like you’re gonna be _sick_.”

“On your feet, yeah,” Aza said, swallowing down the lump in his throat. It was just the way he could feel the knife wriggling around in there – his insides really, really, _really_ didn’t like it. “So, please, stop makin’ me talk.”

Bluebird immediately shut up and shifted a few ilms from him.

They moved slowly through the crowd, trying to draw little attention as they skirted around the gently humming Aetheryte and towards the marketplace. The plaza was lit up brightly in the evening, and there were already more than few people drunkenly staggering about so Aza’s unsteady limping thankfully drew nothing more than the odd disgruntled look. Bluebird’s body blocked the knife from sight, even if it did mean her bumping into it every so often – agonisingly.

“Easy does it, easy does it…” Bluebird was murmuring, the pair of them walking over the bridge. A group of Kugane women were ahead of them, merrily gossiping about some play or other – Aza honestly couldn’t make heads or tails of it. He felt alarmingly faint, “Almost there. Just the market, then you can fall into Hancock’s loving yet creepy arms.”

“I wanna… fall into Tataru’s instead,” Aza slurred, the chatter around him building into a dull, incomprehensible roar. He breathed through the pain, letting it sputter into sharp, acid aether that kindled behind his breastbone. Not quite Living Dead, but primed and ready to go if his body tried to keel over.

“Don’t you dare use that,” Bluebird hissed at him, no doubt detecting the spike of dark aether, “You’ll make it worse.”

Aza slid a sideways look at her, “D’ya want me to swoon into your arms…?”

“No, fuck no, just keep walking,” Bluebird snapped, both of them making it past the retainer stall and turning down the long street. It was thick with shoppers, and the odd Sekiseigumi, but these must’ve been the genuine ones because they didn’t give more than a glance their way. Aza let his eyes slide half-shut, shifts of aether letting him sway and lean away from accidental shoulder bumps.

“C’mon, please don’t shit in my dinner now, Twelve,” Bluebird was whispering, tugging Aza out of the way of a Roedygan lumbering around with heavy crates in his arms. The sharp movement made stars dance in his spinning vision, “Just the corner, then we’re there. No Garleans, no Sekiseigumi, no Shinobi, _please_ …”

They turned the corner, exiting the marketplace.

And almost into the arms of a group of Garlean soldiers.

There was a stiff moment of silence as the two parties stopped and stared at each other. Aza found himself instantly alert, the pain crushing itself down into a distant corner of his mind as he straightened up, gaze focused, intent and predatory, on a tangible enemy within arm’s reach. A group of four soldiers, armoured, with one clear officer at the front, his black-matte helmet expressionless as his gloved hands tightened into fists. The Echo thrummed, hostility, but it was a pleasant sort that was edged with fear. Aza breathed it in.

“Warrior of Light,” the officer began tersely, “What a surprise to see you in Kugane. I thought you had returned to Ishgard to continue your support of its fledging Republic.”

“Are you sure you’re surprised? We just encountered a few of your agents tonight who seemed to be expecting us,” Bluebird cut in meanly, “Causing trouble and pissing us off.”

“I’ll have you know that they are not acting officially, if that’s the case,” the Garlean officer said uneasily, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The soldiers behind him looked like they’d been carved from black marble, like any wrong twitch would have them cut down. “We are here as a diplomatic presence, with additional orders to facilitate the peace process with Doma.”

“The one headed by Asahi sas Brutus?” Aza asked, his voice slightly raspy – but it had the additional effect of sounding more intimidating. He watched, with hidden glee, as a soldier shivered from head to toe at the sound of his voice, “We’ve met, he and I.”

“Oh, really?” The Garlean officer said tightly.

“Mm…” Aza drew out the noise, purring it, “A very passionate and zealous follower of Zenos yae Galvus, I’ve learned. Seems like a provocative message to make, considering Zenos’s relationship with Doma.”

The tension could be cut with a knife at this point, and the Garlean officer looked like he’d rather crawl up the wall and flee over the roofs than endure their presence for a second longer. Admirably, though, he stayed in place, tilting his chin up and letting the light reflect off his helmet, “A… unfortunate coincidence, and not an intentional slight, I’m sure. I hope you won’t allow that to influence your behaviour towards our young diplomat, Warrior of Light.”

The way the officer said ‘Warrior of Light’ sounded so remarkably similar to Asahi’s ‘Saviour of Savages’. Disdainful, irritated, as if annoyed that he had to use a title on something he viewed as nothing more than a mindless, bloodthirsty beast. It made Aza smile a tiger’s smile, showing plenty of teeth, “Oh, not to worry, I hate him on his own merits.”

One of the soldiers made an abortive movement but stayed in place. The pain was practically a distant memory at this point, Aza feeling drunk off the control he had in this situation and, what was most likely hypovolemic shock, so he felt content to simply stand there and smile, feeling the bubble of fire-hot aether churning in his chest. Would they attack him? They were out in the open, with Sekiseigumi only just around the corner. Starting a fight here would be the peak of stupidity.

A part of him still hoped they did start something. How quickly can I kill them, before the Sekiseigumi come running, he thought darkly, letting his gaze drag over the soldiers before him and picking out the vulnerable spots in their Kugane-styled armour. He could…

“I wouldn’t have thought someone as glorified as yourself would be so narrow-minded,” the Garlean officer ground out in clear, frustrated hatred. Aza really wished he could see his expression. “But I suppose a savage is still a savage at the end of the day.”

Ah, there it was.

Bluebird made a disgruntled noise beside him, “Can we _stop_ the pissing contest now, please?” she snapped, “I doubt any of us wants to get in trouble with the Sekiseigumi, so let us go our separate ways and bitch about each other behind our backs.”

Aza’s ears flicked in annoyance, but Bluebird squeezed his arm painfully tight, digging her nails right into the bared skin. His tail lashed, the fur fluffed out, but he obediently subsided, quietly staring the soldiers down with an expression that was openly displeased.

The Garlean officer straightened up, his hands clenched into tight fists, his shoulders squared like he was preparing to charge. He didn’t, though, regrettably, “Fine. Let’s leave the savages be, men.”

The soldiers seem to huddle closer together as the officer boldly marched forwards, as if close proximity offered them protection from the Big Bad Couerl that was Aza, apparently. Aza didn’t move. He merely tracked their movements with his gaze alone, still as stone as they marched past well within arm’s reach, and then behind him, their heavy footsteps echoing long after they turned the corner.

The wound in his side throbbed angrily, in time with the hard beating of his heart. He let out the breath he’d been holding in a harsh hiss, feeling abruptly and irrationally angry. He wanted to break something.

Bluebird was fearless of his bad mood, “You absolute _wanker_ ,” she growled, giving his arm a shake and making his vision flash white with pain, “All you had to do was shut up and keep your head down, and what did you do? Openly antagonise the Garlean fucklords! Idiot! Did Zenos kill off all your braincells when he beat the shit out you?”

Aza’s rage spiked, briefly, at that sore reminder, “ _Don’t_.”

Bluebird made an incoherent, angry noise, but didn’t say anymore. They both stood there, equally seething and staring in opposite directions, and slowly, pain began to prod through Aza’s consciousness, until his legs were trembling with the effort of keeping him upright and proud. He hated Garleans and himself in equal measure, then.

“C’mon,” Bluebird finally said, her voice tight, “Let’s get you to a fainting couch or something before you finally kick the bucket.”

Aza didn’t trust himself to say anything. He just let Bluebird drag him onwards, his head dipped low as he carefully compartmentalised all that angry, red mess in his head. Ever since Asahi, his tight control over his rage was all over the place. He was amazed Fray hadn’t made a reappearance to beat him over the head with his Greatsword, as if physically fighting all of his mental issues would make him a functioning, normal member of society.

They finally reached the Ruby Bazaar without further incidents, albeit in a tense, angry silence. Bluebird just barged right in, throwing the door open and striding into the brightly lit room. Although it was outside of office hours, the receptionist at the desk was still there, who turned a practiced smile to them before they realised who they were.

“Lady Bluebird and Ser Aza,” the receptionist began, surprised, “You weren’t expected-”

“Sorry to interrupt but we need to speak to Hancock and Tataru,” Bluebird cut in, “Aza got himself stabbed like a moron and we need something flat to put him on before he passes out.”

“Uh,” the receptionist’s eyes flittered to Aza – pale, clammy and dizzy – and then down, to where the knife was still sticking out of his armour, the leather around it gleaming wetly with blood, “O-Oh, my- um, I’ll get them right away.”

The receptionist quickly slipped out from the counter and into the back room. Bluebird made an irritated noise.

“I’m getting too old to deal with this shit,” she declared, dragging Aza to one of the expensive looking seats lining the wall and shoving him into it, uncaring of how it jostled his injury. “Stay there, don’t die, I’ll get Crisp.”

Aza watched her go with heavy-lidded eyes, listing to the side a little in an effort to stop himself from bleeding all over the chair. Bluebird was still angry, but he knew she’d cool off by the time she came back.

He found his eyes sliding shut that little bit more, exhaustion dragging him right down. Ugh. Fuck his life, really. All he wanted was to get drunk, and what happens? Rude shinobi assassins, potentially bribed/corrupted Sekiseigumi and Garleans. Kugane was not good for his blood pressure, really.

With this final thought, he found himself drifting off, just as he heard a door open and Tataru loudly shouting in surprise.

It’ll be fine. He’s lived through worse.

 

* * *

 

Laelius Pyr Vitus let out a shaking exhale as they escaped Eorzea’s Beast unmolested.

The Centurio didn’t break stride, and Laelius couldn’t gauge his mood staring at his back, but no one seemed to be in the talking mood so their cohort was eerily silent as they moved through the marketplace. He had overheard that there had been some plan to take care of Eorzea’s Beast tonight, but it seemed whatever it was had failed. The monster barely looked touched, only mildly annoyed.

Beside him, Marcus, a veteran soldier of many a battle peered nervously over his shoulder, as if expecting Eorzea’s Beast to suddenly pop up behind them, blade in hand. The thought made him shudder – many a tale had been spread of that creature’s cruel brutality and single-minded savagery. He had widowed many a wife, orphaned many a child, and disrupted the peace and order they had begun to impose upon the wildlands of Othard and Eorzea.

He was inhuman, whatever he was. Those eyes had practically cut into his soul when they brushed over him, and the dispassionate, uncaring way he regarded them, as if they were so insignificant they were unworthy of acknowledging, made him feel lower than the stone they trod on. It reminded him so much of Lord Zenos, so much so it made his stomach twist into awful, terrible knots at the thought. Lord Zenos had been a machine of unrivalled destruction, striking terror into even his own countrymen – to think Eorzea had their own version, one that, if one listened to rumours, was more powerful than Lord Zenos…

“What a monster…” Marcus whispered beside him, and the two other soldiers murmured their agreements, softly. Laelius glanced at the Centurio, but he was still marching onwards, making no outwards gesture that he had heard and disapproved of their speaking. “Did you see those beastly eyes of his?”

“And those fangs,” Another soldier – Virgil, maybe? – whispered back, “He was so short too, but I’ve heard he can lift and throw a fully grown male Roedygan like they weigh nothing more than a handful of grapes. Monstrously strong!”

“Well, _I_ heard he is immortal,” the last soldier – Florus – added, with the air of someone who shared this gossip quite often, “There is a tale, I’ve heard, where he had been run through with a blade, but he merely continued fighting as if it weren’t there, red aether rising from his body in some sort of Eorzean witchcraft.”

“I haven’t heard this,” Marcus muttered doubtfully.

“I have,” Virgil said, “I also heard he hunts and fights Behemoths… for _fun_.”

“And that he defeated Lord Zenos-” Florus began eagerly, only for their Centurio to abruptly stop and turn to face them.

“Enough,” he hissed, and all four of them came to a guilty halt, standing to attention beneath his invisible glare, “You will not spread these Eorzean lies amongst yourselves. They are nothing more than propaganda. The ‘Warrior of Light’,” he sneered this, “Is nothing more than a savage Miqo’te with more luck than sense.”

He paused, but they said nothing in response to this. Laelius knew that the Warrior of Light was more than just some lucky Miqo’te – he doubted he was a Miqo’te at all. He heard hushed rumours that he was actually some powerful Primal summoned by Eorzea to fight against the Empire, and after being face to face with that cold, careless creature, it was a rumour he was beginning to believe.

The Centurio nodded, “Be mindful of your words,” he warned, “The Empire does not tolerate its soldiers spreading misinformation amongst its ranks.”

“Sir!” They chorused, saluting, and appeased, their Centurio turned away and resumed walking, all of them hastening to follow.  

Still, though, Laelius couldn’t help but look back, even though they were far from where they bumped into Eorzea’s Beast. A lingering fear followed him, like he was being stalked by some predator, well out of sight.

Terrible. What a terrible creature, that Warrior of Light. What a pity his assassination failed tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, let's face it - I'm surprised The Empire haven't buried him in shitload of assassins at this point. Also I just wanted to write this bc there's a difference between fighting through pain in a life-and-death battle, and enduring it when fleeing. It was interesting writing from a Garlean perspective though, hmm, maybe I should do that more often....
> 
> Anyway, I got that angsty stuff out of my system. Now time to work on the far more fluffy and schmoopy stuff like that marriage proposal lolol 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and please comment/kudos if you enjoyed!


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